


Sunset

by MovingPen



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: A/U with heavily canon elements, Gen, Nuclear Fallout, written for an interesting theory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-30 16:17:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1020777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MovingPen/pseuds/MovingPen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the world is trying to recover from Nuclear fallout and a scientist is trying to find his way to the town he’s heard so much about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunset

**Author's Note:**

> My first one shot, and my first work in this fandom. Critique is much appreciated.  
> Enjoy!

You are alone. 

 “The sands beneath your feet shift endlessly, restlessly, the grains building upon one another to consume what is left of your sneakers. It raises to your ankles, then your knees, and then to your bones. It’s a fluid heat, the earth encroaching upon you, into you, and it burns. It burns, and you cannot run. Welcome, listeners, to Night Vale.”

 All you have is your radio. It picks up signals, from time to time. 

 “Today, as you all know, is the day incoming Freshmen visit Night Vale high to shadow some of it’s current students. I’ve been told the incoming class is actually larger than it was last year, totaling one-hundred and forty-two. Considering the mandatory 36% mortality rate for teenagers between the ages of thirteen and eighteen, this means that the graduating class is projected to be the largest in the history of Night Vale. Amazing what a few new PTA members can do, am I right? Personally, I think Tamika Flynn-- you know, the girl who carved her way out of the Summer Reading Program?-- is really to thank here. Thanks to her, so many children were spared the wonder of reading and can continue on to adulthood. Good job, Tamika Flynn. Good job.”

 You are a scientist. 

 “You know, listeners, I... don’t ever remember shadowing anyone. I am a proud graduate of Night Vale High, of course, but I don’t ever remember participating in the ceremony myself. I do remember _getting_ a shadow in Sophomore year, though. What a great day that was. I could cast my own personal void on whatever I stood in front of. Gretchen Lye was her name-- The Freshman. I was hoping for someone that looked a little bit more like me, but what are the odds of that ever happening, right? She was good at following my movements. You’d think I really _did_ cast a shadow.” 

 You were a scientist.

 “In other news, many citizens are reporting a strange glow from Raydon Canyon. It’s advised that no one approach the crevice. Do not look into it’s luminous depths, despite how alluring it’s ethereal glow is. It is _not_ dangerous, just bad for your eyes, eye, or other such organs used for perceiving the grim situations of yourself and those around you. It is not toxic. _Do not breathe_.”

 To be honest, you don’t know what “science” is anymore. 

 “And now, traffic.”

 There is a desert. 

 “The pounding of four legs, the beat of bone on concrete. A rhythm. A building. A skyscraper. What is left? Homes. No, not homes. Memories, refuge, sanctuary, road. Road. Road. Pavement. Cracks. Sand. Dust. Desolation. Move on. Move on. Move on. Exhale everything there is. There is air. There is clarity. Do not give up. Move on.” 

 And sometimes you think that is all there is. 

 “It sounds like a great day to go on a drive, dear listeners. I may even drive around a little myself.”

 But sometimes you listen to the radio. 

 “I don’t-- oh, intern Josephine has just handed me a letter. She says it’s from one of our listeners, listeners. Now which one of you so craftily managed to handwrite a letter to me, here at the Station?” 

 And you’re reminded that there is someone else at the other end. 

He lives in a city. He calls it Night Vale.

 “...Uhg. Look, I love getting letters. I really do, they’re great. But I swear to God, _Steve,_ you’re ruining it for everyone. And I can tell this is ink! Pens are _illegal,_ and not because they ‘mandate digital communication and thereby give the Vague Yet Menacing Government Agency means by which to catalog all transcripts’. They’re illegal because _pencils_ are illegal, and we can’t just outlaw one without the other. I mean, honestly. Everyone knows that.” 

 Someone named Steve Carlsberg lives there, you know. No one likes him, and despite yourself, you don’t either. 

 “In other news, I’ve just been told the shadowing students are not enjoying their first day at Night Vale High. They are trying to escape up the walls and through the cracks in the windows. The teachers are calling this ‘extremely distracting and entirely inconvenient’, as young people should be ‘responsive and open to the collective melding of their consciousness’ with the Freshman they’ve been assigned to. Teenagers just keep getting more and more rebellious, don’t they? But a little bit of rebellion can lead to something new, and something beautiful. More on this after a word from our sponsor.” 

 You don’t listen to the advertisements. 

Instead, you collect your things and step outside. The sun is setting, and the heat is fading, and you can travel. 

 “... and remember to shop at that occasional street vendor whenever or wherever you may or may not see it.”

 The geiger counter in your bag goes off constantly. You think the radio has cut out. 

 “The shadows are escaping the building-- ‘Yes, there they go’, says the principal, watching them slip away into the unknown, ‘They are definitely leaving the campus.’ She went on to say that they were ‘no longer her problem’ nor had they ever ‘really been students of hers’ before climbing back beneath the gymnasium bleachers and clapping loudly, just once.” 

 It hasn’t. 

“With that impromptu resolution, I leave you momentarily with... [the Weather](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1knh-_SYrfQ).” 

 You turn off your buzzing Geiger counter so you can listen. The weather-- what it’s like outside-- never changes. It is always hot, it is always sunny, and you are so glad that he doesn’t remind you every day. 

 “Most of the student shadows are... gone. The all seeing void, lightless, ominous, and endless, accepted them willingly. The roster for next year’s enrollment has been changed accordingly, listing a solid sixty-two and a half students for next semester. Now _that’s_ the average we’re used to, Night Vale.” 

 You wonder how there can be a half student. 

 “Before I leave you tonight, dear listeners, I would like to mention it does not matter how far away you are. If you can hear me, you are home. You are safe. You have made it here, to this day. We will meet again tomorrow, and the next day, but maybe not the next. Maybe never. Find us. Huddle with us. We are safe. We are waiting for you.” 

 Sometimes you like to think he’s talking to you, but you know there must be so many people that tune into this show. It’s all that’s left between the radiation and the whirr of helicopters overhead. You don’t know where they come from, or where they go. You’ve been trying to follow them. 

 “Goodnight, Night Vale. Goodnight.” 

The radio cuts out. 

You walk. After the darkness inks out the horizon completely, you see it. A faint light so far off you can’t be sure it even really _exists._ It dims and returns, dims and returns, and you change your course. Through the sand and dust and ash, the bones and grave, you walk.  

 You will make it there before the sun rises again. 

**Author's Note:**

> Weather: Frames, 'Don't Stay Here'
> 
> If you enjoyed this work, or would like to see more of it, please comment! It means so much to me.


End file.
